


The Sarcasm Society

by snipershezz



Category: Fallout 3, Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Asexual Character, Asexual Courier, Blow Jobs, Fluff (if you squint), Ghoul, Humor, M/M, PWP, Sexual Tension, Slash, Snark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-01
Updated: 2017-02-01
Packaged: 2018-09-21 06:39:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9536354
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/snipershezz/pseuds/snipershezz
Summary: The strip ran as smoothly as could be expected in a town like New Vegas. Everyone was reasonably happy, so naturally some asshole had to come in and fuck it all up. Ok, so maybe Dex was exaggerating just a little…but the day Desmond Lockheart set foot on the strip was the day all hell broke loose.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I warn you now this is nothing but pure smut! This piece was written for the new Fallout kink meme. Please don't read if you are offended by that.
> 
> The original prompt was as follows: I know this might never be filled because these guys rarely get any love (a damn shame!) but listen, Desmond and Dean would be HORRIBLE together and I need it in my life. It isn't too far fetched to imagine them knowing each other before the bombs dropped. Dean was famous and Desmond seemed like he was pretty high status as well. I just want to see these two guys being arrogant pricks together. Prewar, or even running into each other post war. I need it bad, anons.
> 
> Headcanons ahoy! So, these are my three headcanons surrounding Desmond Lockheart;  
> 1\. He knew Dean Domino before the bombs fell and had a hand in planning the Sierra Madre heist, because Frederick Sinclair was on ‘revenge’ list (although this headcanon didn’t include a relationship between them until now).  
> 2\. (really has nothing to do with this fic but wanted to share it anyway) Desmond knows Charon because he was present at the poker game where Azrukhal won his contract (also another random headcanon).  
> 3\. Finally, he comes to New Vegas to kill Robert House because he’s another one of the people on his hit list.  
> Also, the last time I published something new was in May last year so hopefully this is half decent *nervous hand wringing*
> 
> EDIT 07-01-2018: So, I like to go through my stories at the end of every year and see how my writing style has changed, I realised suddenly that I never did that in 2016. I didn't make forty-eight works in four days but I gave it hell and managed twenty-one, so yay me lol I'm finishing the rest off and then I'll begin uploading again :) Updated with minor editing :) Happy New Year ya'll!

What had started out as a jab about his inability to love another human being ended up being a long-winded tale of love and betrayal, that would break even the harshest of hearts. To Dex, the whole thing sounded like an utter train wreck that probably never would have worked anyway, but he held his tongue and let Dean have this one - just this once.

He didn’t think much about that late night in a boarded room across from the _Sierra Madre_ when Dean Domino had seemed _almost_ like a functional human being with _actual_ emotions until a year or so later.

Many of Dex’s companions stuck around after the battle at Hoover Dam and they’d all carved a life for themselves on the strip. Dex ran the Lucky 38 with Dean as his business partner and the casino’s entertainer. Cass worked security alongside Boone, Lily was the casino’s cook, and Victor ended up being quite the bartender. Raul ran his own mechanics shop a little further up the strip and came in whenever something in the casino decided to break.

The strip ran as smoothly as could be expected in a town like New Vegas. Everyone was reasonably happy, so naturally some asshole had to come in and fuck it all up.

Ok, so maybe Dex was exaggerating just a _little_ \- but the day Desmond Lockheart set foot on the strip was the day all hell broke loose.

Paperwork need to be sorted and somehow Dex had been lumped with it all. Sitting in a tiny chair in the office with a pencil that kept breaking, he was just beginning to get a headache when the foyer of the casino exploded with the echoing shouts of his friends. By the time he had tripped over the chair, a stack of paperwork, a random box of guns and gotten out there it was an all-out brawl, ending in several injuries.

Which brought him to this exact moment -

He pinched the bridge of his nose, “So, run this by me again - what the _fuck_ happened?”

The entire group began talking at once, the noise rising to a deafening level. Dex pulled his pistol, firing a shot towards the ceiling. The silence that followed was only broken by the piece of plaster that came crashing down onto the table in front of him.

“What did the ceiling do Boss?” Raul’s eye crinkled in a half smile as he nursed an ice pack on the other, which was rapidly turning a vivid purple.

“I’m not concerned with the state of the ceiling at this particular moment.”

Raul grumbled something about Dex not being the one who would have to fix it.

The ex-courier bit back a smirk and ignored him, continuing his sentence, “I’m more concerned with what the fuck happened in the foyer of my casino just now.”

“ _Our_.” Drawled the distinct British voice.

“What?” Dex snapped.

“Our casino Dexter, or have you forgotten who saved your ass a year ago?”

Momentarily picturing all the ways he could end Dean’s life, Dex took a deep breath, “You were at this centre of this brahmin shit Dean, what the _fuck_ happened?”

The singer took a deep drag on his current cigarette and then pointed to the ghoul standing sullenly in the corner, “He did.”

The ghoul in question was staring daggers at Cass who had a shotgun leveled at his head.

“And who might you be?” Dex turned his attention to the stranger.

“Desmond Lockheart.” The ghoul snapped. “Though I don’t know why the fuck it matters to you, asshole.” His tone snapped through the air like a bullwhip.

The former courier leveled a steely gaze on him, “Give me one reason why I shouldn’t have Cass here shoot you?”

“Because I’d really rather you didn’t.” Dean cut in quickly. The tone in his business partner’s voice made Dex pause. He’d heard a lot of shit come out of Dean’s mouth but that sounded almost - panicked.

He gave the ghoul a curious look, “Dean? A word in private, please.”

The singer, for once, followed without comment. Once they had entered Dex’s room he turned and shut the door.

“Dean? Cut the shit ok? Is that -” He trailed off.

The ghoul was silent for so long Dex opened his mouth to repeat the question, but was cut off.

“Yes. It’s him.”

“But you said he was dead!”

“I thought he was, but evidently he isn’t.” Dean replied, looking at Dex as if he was a complete moron.

“I don’t understand.” The younger man scratched his head, clearly puzzled.

Dean’s look did not improve.

“How did you two end up trying to kill each other? Shouldn’t that have been a - I dunno - a _‘moment’?_ ”

The singer scoffed loudly, “Have you ever formed a romantic attachment to _anyone_ \- ever?”

Dex scratched the back of his neck, giving the ghoul a sheepish look, “Well - no - but I know the bloody difference between what should have been a ‘kissy face moment’ and a riot that got three of our people injured.”

“The mechanic is not one of _our_ people.” Dean shot back.

Dex’s eye twitched, “He’s one of _my_ people Domino.”

“What was he doing there in the first place?”

“Probably trying to help your stupid ass!” Dex replied incredulously.

“I don’t need his help.” Dean sniffed disdainfully.

“I distinctly remember you needing his help last week when your precious sound system broke down.”

“Alright so he has his uses.”

“Dean stop changing the fucking subject. Whatever this shit is with Lockheart you need to sort it in a way that doesn’t end in bloodshed.”

The singer scratched his chin, “Can’t guarantee that partner.”

Dex sighed heavily, “At least try? For me?”

The smirk that graced Dean’s face rivaled even the most frightening of demonic entities, “I’ll try, but only because you’re _so pretty_.”  Sarcasm dripped from the statement and Dex laughed.

“I look worse than your ass on a good day, so fuck you.”

“Oh come on Dexter, you _love_ me. I’m one of your closest friends.” He nudged the taller man in the ribs.

Dex rolled his eyes, still grinning, “I tolerate you Domino, you caustic bastard.”

“Can you do me a favour partner?”

“Sure Dean.”

“Go and get Lockheart and bring him to my room. I think him and I should have a little chat.”

Dex knew that look and it made him nervous, “No explosives Dean.”

A theatrical sigh followed him out the door, “You take the fun out of _everything_.”

* * *

When the lanky kid came to fetch him from the redneck with the shotgun, Desmond knew what was going to happen.

He wasn’t nervous and those weren’t butterflies in his stomach, he didn’t give a flying fuck about Dean Domino anymore. He was _bone-achingly_ angry, and Domino was at the top of his kill painfully list.

It wasn’t hurt he was feeling -

Or so he kept telling himself.

They approached a door and the kid turned his gaze to Desmond, “Dean’s in there, try not to kill each other this time.”

“Why the fucking hell do you care about that limey?” His anger flared even more.

It wasn’t jealousy -

Nope.

The former courier shrugged casually, “He’s the entertainment.” As he turned to leave he smiled just slightly, “Good luck.” Desmond sneered in response which only made Dex smile wider, “I spend a lot of time around Dean, you’ll have to do better than that if you want to irk me.”

Instead of just shooting the kid like he wanted, Desmond shoved the door open roughly and slammed it behind him.

The room was dimly lit, Dean was a silhouette seated in the corner, smoke curling around his head like a noir film.

Desmond’s heart was suddenly in his throat, the singer really was exactly how he remembered him, minus some skin. He immediately stomped down on whatever feelings were surfacing and sneered at the shadowy figure, “I don’t have the time or the patience for your fucking theatrics Domino.” He growled.

“Don’t think you’re so bloody _special_ Lockheart.” Came the icy reply, “The ghoul you punched has yet to fix my rather stubborn lighting problem. You’re more of a _moron_ than I thought if you think I’d bother to go to any trouble for _you_. Have a seat, I think we’re long overdue for a little chat.” Desmond stayed where he was, making Dean chuckle. “I must be losing my touch.”

As much as he loathed to admit it, the singer’s voice hadn’t changed even a fraction in all these years and the honeyed tone still went straight to his dick. “Don’t flatter yourself. You never fucking had one.” He snapped.

“You never showed!” Dean’s voice cut through the air like a knife. “It was supposed to be the greatest heist in history! It was supposed to be _our_ moment but you fucked it all up. Then the world went to shit and I was trapped. 200 _fucking_ years I was stuck in that bloody place.” Sadness crept into his tone, “What happened to you Desmond?”

Lockheart’s blood boiled, and he’d crossed the room before he knew he’d moved. Leaning down he boxed Dean in with his arms, “I fucking showed alright!” He snarled, “I was right on time, but you wouldn’t have noticed that shit because you were getting all hot and heavy with _her_.” Desmond felt satisfaction when surprise graced the singer’s face.

“Vera?”

“Yes _Vera_. You had that fucking whore backed into a corner in her dressing room.”

Dean began to laugh, “You sodding idiot –”

The sentence was cut short as Lockheart pressed his gun to Dean’s temple, “You’ve got two fucking seconds to explain Domino or the 38’s going to be looking for new entertainment.”

“She was trying to pull out – ‘cold feet’ – some half assed excuse about him _loving her_. I blackmailed her with her addiction Des, I wasn’t having anything screwing up what _we_ worked so hard for. It was you and me against the world Desmond. That’s how it always was.”

His anger crumbled like a wall in downtown DC, finger slipping back to the trigger guard, “You weren’t fuckin’ her?”

Dean took his sunglasses off and Desmond’s breath hitched. Ghoulfication hadn’t ravaged Dean’s eyes like it had his own. They were still the same clear deep blue.

It made him feel things he never put names to because fuck that shit.

“I never went near Vera. The press thought we were ‘lovers’ then ‘former lovers’ but it was never the truth. Half the women they _claimed_ I slept with I’d never even said two words to.” The honesty in Dean’s eyes was jarring, “You and me Des, that’s all it ever was. I swear to you.”

The barrel slowly slipped away from Dean’s head and the singer smirked triumphantly.

“What are you fucking smirking at?” Desmond’s tone was still gruff but didn’t hold the violence it did minutes ago.

“You were _jealous_.” Dean’s eyes were alight with amusement.

“Fuck you.” The taller ghoul shot back.

“Something I’m willing to let you do – if you ask nicely.”

Desmond snorted, “You’re a bastard.”

“And you’re a prick.” For a moment, they just stared at each other. “I _missed_ you Des.” Dean said fondly.

The other ghoul smirked, “Missed getting fucked is more like it.”

Dean gave him a scathing look, “Still as crude as ever but no - although it is a perk - I missed your _stunning_ personality.”

Desmond snorted, “Not everyone was raised with a silver spoon in their prissy little mouth Dean.”

“I have _so_ missed our banter.”

The singer looked like he was going to launch into full on sap mode, which never failed to make Desmond’s teeth ache. So rather than deal with that he gripped Dean’s neatly pressed shirt and pulled him in for a bruising kiss.

The shorter ghoul sat frozen for a few seconds, but came to life when Desmond nipped at his lips.

This elicited a gasp which allowed him to slip his tongue into the entertainer’s mouth. Dean melted against him, moving his hands to grip at Desmond’s biceps. His nails dug into Lockheart’s arms, making him smile against him.

Over 200 years worth of passion was poured into that kiss until both of their lungs burned with the need for oxygen and Desmond’s back began to ache. Finally they parted, panting like they’d both run miles.

Desmond stood up, yanking the shorter man up with him. Dean’s arms slipped around his neck and he gave a salacious grin as he pressed himself against his lover.

“Still a total slut for me aren’t you Dean?” If it were possible the older ghoul’s voice became even rougher.

“Don’t flatter yourself Des –” The confident air was cut off as Desmond gripped his hips and rubbed himself against the singer.

The moan that followed made him chuckle. Backing them towards the bed the taller ghoul pushed the singer down roughly, watching him bounce back onto his elbows.

Wincing slightly as he knelt, he removed Dean’s shoes and began to work on the belt at his hips.

“200 years is hell on the knees isn’t it Des? Careful old man, perhaps you’re too old for this kind of game.”

“Speak fer yer fuckin’ self, Domino.” He snapped, as he rid him of his trousers. Desmond crawled over him and began working the shirt buttons.

Dean returned the favour, getting an immense amount of satisfaction from the stutter in his lover’s breathing as he raked a nail over a bare nipple.

“Where’s yer lube Dean?” Desmond asked gruffly in between attacks on the other man’s neck. He pointed blindly towards the draws beside the bed. This made his lover laugh in a low tone, “Yer always prepared in’t ya?”

Dean loved it when Desmond was so aroused his accent slipped. The clipped trans-Atlantic inflection disappeared and was replaced with the rough Londoner drawl that he knew the older ghoul kept very close to his chest.

His thought pattern shattered as he felt a wicked tongue curl its way around the tip of his member. A set of slick fingers sort his entrance and Dean lost all ability to do anything but moan. Desmond did some creative things with his tongue while he prepped him, that left the singer an incoherent mess.

“Enough Des, just – fuck – just do it.”

The taller ghoul pulled back with a pop, “What was tha’ Deano? Didn’t ‘ear ya.” He twisted his fingers and Dean practically launched off the bed.

“D–don’t be a b–bastard – oh _God_ – Des _just bloody well fuck me!_ ”

Desmond raised a brow, smirking slightly as he repeated the motion. This singer’s moans shot up his spine and he shivered violently, “Come on Deano, tell me wha’ I wanna ‘ear. Ya beg so pretty like.”

“P–please Des, please fuck me.”

Triumphant in his quest to hear the singer beg, he moved to coat his aching dick, positioning himself over the other ghoul, “‘M gunna fuck ya so hard babe.” Desmond growled as he pushed into his lover.

* * *

When the rhythmic banging started up on the kitchen wall, Raul chuckled as Dex went several shades of red.

“I now regret giving Dean a room next to the kitchen.” The ex-courier muttered, taking a large swig of beer.

A loud moan penetrated the wall and broke the awkward air.

Raul smirked, “Who do you think that was? Dean or the other guy?”

“My money’s on Domino.” Boone commented, picking at the label on his beer. “With his personality? Always figured he’d be a real cockslut -”

Dex showered both men in beer in the most spectacular spit-take Raul had ever seen.

“Watch it kid,” grumbled the sniper, “I just washed this shirt.”

“Can we never use those words in a sentence again! _Please?!_ ” The younger man exclaimed in a freaked tone.

Raul laughed outright this time and Boone smirked.

Another even louder moan interrupted the conversation.

“What’s the betting he’s a screamer too?” The Spaniard remarked.

“For sure.” Boone replied, grinning.

Dex turned a pale shade and got up from the table, “If anyone needs me, I’ll be downstairs in the office.”

“Though you had a headache Boss?” Raul didn’t bother to attempt to keep the amusement from his voice.

Dex declined answering in favour of practically running to the elevator. His hasty exit accompanied by the laughter of his friends.

* * *

Oblivious to the turmoil he was causing the young courier, Dean let loose another groan as Desmond pounded his prostate with each brutal thrust. His lover continued his assault on the singer’s senses, nipping his neck and whispering deliciously filthy things in his ear.

Desmond loved seeing the normally calm and collected entertainer go to pieces whenever they were like this - it gave him a thrill like little else did. He growled roughly as the tight, slick heat of Dean’s body began to overwhelm him.

The way his lover tensed underneath him, Desmond could tell he was close too.

Grabbing the smaller ghoul’s weeping cock, he began to pump it in time with his thrusts, “Come on babe, cum fer me.”

Dean’s orgasm hit him like a freight train and he shouted out incoherently as he coated them both with his seed.

Desmond groaned as he felt Dean’s body squeeze his dick, “Fuck!” His movements stuttered as he lost himself in the most intense orgasm he’d had in years. He collapsed on top of the singer who let out an undignified sound.

After a minute, he spoke, “Get off me Des, you weigh a bloody ton.”

The taller ghoul chuckled but complied and they arranged themselves into a more comfortable position on the bed.

Dean automatically curled up against Desmond’s broad chest, who began to brush his fingers lazily across the back of his lover’s neck. The singer opened his mouth to speak but was abruptly cut off.

“Don’t ruin a perfectly good fuck with your sap, Domino.”

A grin spread across his face, “I wouldn’t dream of it Des. Confessions of love are certainly not my style - besides you don’t have to say it, I already know.”

Desmond snorted, grinning softly, “You’re an idiot.”

“But I’m _your_ idiot.”

“Yeah,” the taller ghoul grumbled, “you’re my idiot.”

* * *

When the two ghouls appeared at breakfast the next morning it was as if nothing had ever occurred between them.

Dex of course knew better and watched them curiously.

Scathing remarks combated against witty banter as they threw caustic insults back and forth.

From the way they carried on it was as if they couldn’t stand the sight of each other, but there were small smiles and casual touches so quick that you’d think it were your imagination.

Dex grinned into his cup of coffee.

“What the fuck are you grinning about?” Lockheart snapped.

“You two sort your shit out?” He asked.

“None of your bloody business Dexter.” Dean’s voice was clipped and icy.

Desmond casually slipped a hand on Dean’s should and squeezed.

Dex smiled, “Well, it’s not a ‘kissy face moment’ - but for two emotionally inept bastards - that hand on his shoulder is practically a declaration of undying love.”

Knowing what would happen next, he sat back and let the two ghouls tear strips off him with their insults.

He was right.

They were a total train wreck.

But somehow - it just - _worked_.


End file.
